


The Hook Up

by xmarisolx



Category: Dexter (TV)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-15
Updated: 2010-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-13 05:33:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/133519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xmarisolx/pseuds/xmarisolx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dexter has one Gary Phillips in his crosshairs; meanwhile, Deb tries to get Dexter to go on a date.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Fandom: Dexter  
> Title: "The Hook Up"  
> Characters: Season 1 cast  
> Description: This is the story of how Rita and Dexter got together in the first place.  
> Rating: T

"We have a transfer guys," LaGuerta announced to the gathered officers. "Well not so much a transfer as an invitation from the DA to assist on a case that is officially"—air quotes—"being handled by our brothers in blue at the station on 62nd street."

Doakes rolled his eyes. Alliteration was not his thing. Neither was sharing.

"Last night we got a positive ID on this guy," (she posted a picture), "Gary Phillips: a six foot two white male, approximately 180 pounds, with hazel eyes, who may or may not have a family. He's our number one suspect on the murder of Jose Ramirez, the nephew of the superintendent of Miami-Dade County Public Schools, a detail that raises the profile of the case. The search for Phillips had the 62nd Street station crossing paths with various people and locations in our precinct, and—" she paused with a slight smugness lacing her words, "—our station has a reputation for closing cases."

 _One way or another_ , Dexter thought.

"That's why the DA decided to elicit our help. After leaving a near daily trail of his whereabouts, Phillips disappeared off the face of the earth about two weeks ago," LaGuerta continued. "His last known residence was the Sandy Beach Motel right on Miami Beach. Also, we have sightings of him enlisting the services of a lady of the night in the Cool Night Motel just four blocks away. Ángel?"

"Yep?"

"See if you can check the phone records for the room he was living in as well as for any payphones on the block."

"No problema."

"Masuka, Dexter…we're petitioning to examine the murder weapon currently housed at the other station. Be prepared…there will be blood. And finally, Officer Morgan—"

"That's me," Deb chirped.

"See if you and your undercover team can do some canvassing this evening to find out if any of the ladies working that area know anything?"

"And by canvassing, you mean turning tricks?" Deb asked.

"I hope you wouldn't actually _turn_ any…" LaGuerta responded.

Cue Masuka. "But, um, while you're out there strutting in your PVCs," he said, "think of me."

Deb responded with her middle finger.

"That's enough guys," LaGuerta said. "Now let's get to work."

Dexter would normally be concerned that his foster sister was about to go undercover in the seedy haunts of a known murderer, except that he knew for a fact that Phillips was staying in a Motel 8 clear across town. No one had bothered to find the link between the Superintendent's nephew and the murderer, but when Dexter realized that they were both professional clowns, he'd had a hunch the nephew's murder was connected with a murder that his own station was already investigating: that of a magician that was stabbed to death a month ago. Using methods that probably violated a couple of Phillips civil rights (and the Miami-Dade PD computer user agreement), Dexter had gathered info on both cases and tracked Phillips to his new hotel room last night. A quick search of his room turned up little more than tacky clothes, a few joints and receipt for a tattoo. Dexter would be stopping by soon for a more formal visit.

Just as soon as he got his wheels back.

"I'm outta here," Deb announced as she headed to the door. Her work day wouldn't pick back up until later that night.

"Hold on Deb," Dexter said, running after her. "Can you give me a ride to pick up my car from the shop?"

"Sure," she said. "But I'm leaving now."

"I'm right behind you," he said jogging back to his office to get his things. He ran into Doakes on the way.

"And where do you think you're going?" he barked. "It's not five o'clock yet."

"I know, but I'm going to get my car from the shop. I'll be back within the hour," Dexter said. Doakes stared at him with a fixed scowl that had almost become a cliché between them. But since he didn't say anything else, Dexter gingerly walked passed him.

"I got my eye on you," Doakes called behind him. Dexter kept walking.

 

+

 

On the way over, Dexter realized he was hungry, and so he and Deb stopped at the El Rey de Las Fritas—a Cuban fast food shop that Dexter was nearly addicted to.

 

They walked up to the counter. "We're together," he told the clerk, motioning towards Deb.

"Thanks big brother," Deb said.

"My pleasure," he nodded. "I'll have a Cuban sandwich with a batida de mamey," he said eagerly. "Make that two Cubans. And some corn nuggets."

"Damn," Deb said. "Hungry much?"

"I told you haven't eaten since yesterday this time. I got busy last night."

"Doing what?" Deb said, incredulously.

 _Tracking down Gary Phillips_ , he thought.

"Fixing my plumbing. I got tired of waiting for maintenance, so I did it myself. Then I just got tired and went to bed."

"Whatever," Deb said. "I'll take a frita with fries and a coke."

"Coming up," the clerk said.

Minutes later, as they settled in the car with arms full of food, Deb had a realization. "I have to stop by a friend's house to pick up something before I take you to get your car. That OK?"

"Sure," Dexter shrugged. "Who is it?" he asked in between bites.

"Rita."

"Never heard you talk about her. Which station is she from?"

"Is _who_ from?"

"Rita."

"She's not a cop."

Dexter looked surprised.

"Why do you think my friends always have to be cops?" Deb asked.

"Because they always are."

"What? You think I can't have a single friend that isn't in law enforcement?"

He gulped down a mouthful of pork. "Not really."

"Well you're wrong." She stole one of his corn nuggets.

"So then… how _did_ you meet?"

Deb rolled her eyes. "Why does that matter?"

"It doesn't," Dexter answered nonchalantly.

Deb sighed. "Fine, at a domestic violence call. She was the victim."

Dexter snickered to himself.

"Bite me," Deb said.

"It is so nice for you to stop by," Rita said, while ushering them inside. "Such a pleasant surprise."

"Yeah," Deb said. "We were just in the neighborhood and I figured we'd stop by." Dexter slipped Deb a look of confusion. Deb clearly ignored him. "Anyway, where are my manners? This is my brother Dexter Morgan."

Dexter held out his hand. "Pleased to meet you."

"No, the pleasure is all mine," Rita replied. "Please, have a seat."

"So," Deb said, after sitting. "How's the new job going?"

"Umm…good," Rita said unconvincingly. "I really thought this time around I would be able to find something that _wasn't_ in the hotel industry, but I'm blessed to even have a job, and at least Astor and Cody have some security now. I really can't complain."

"Yeah," Deb said nodding. "How are they anyway?"

"Great! They went to the beach with a neighbor. The beaches are so packed during Spring Break."

"I know," Deb said.

"So I figured I'd stay behind and get some things done."

"I'm sorry," Dexter interrupted. "You have children?"

"I do," Rita said proudly. "My daughter Astor, who will be nine soon, and my son Cody, who is four."

There was a loud rumbling sound coming from the kitchen.

"I apologize; it's so embarrassing," she said. "The garbage disposal isn't working, and now I can't even use the sink in the kitchen at all. So frustrating."

"Dexter can help you," Deb offered. Dexter looked at her suspiciously.

"I can?"

Deb flashed him a disgusted look, before quickly rebounding. "Sure. You can. You were just telling me how you were fixing your own sink last night." She turned to Rita. "Dexter is great with a wrench."

Dexter and Rita looked at each other awkwardly.

"What she means to say is that I'm handsy, I mean, handy."

"What _he_ means to say is—"

"I get it," Rita interjected. "He can fix things." She turned to Dexter. "I mean, if you wouldn't mind?"

"He wouldn't," Deb said excitedly. Rita looked at Deb then back to Dexter, uncertain of his reply.

"I wouldn't, actually. Mind. At all," Dexter choked out.

Relief spread across her face. "You wouldn't? Thank you so much. I've called maintenance until I was blue in the face and the problem just keeps getting worse. Let me know when you're available." She reached for a pen and paper in one of the kids' backpacks. "Here's my number."

Dex nodded, staring at it for a second. "Really, I can just come by Thursday. After work," he offered.

"Sounds good. Thank you," she repeated. "I really appreciate it."

"No problem," Dexter replied.

Deb just smiled from ear to ear.

 

+

 

Back at the car, Dexter was…confused.

 

"So what do you think of her?" Deb said anxiously.

" _Rita?_ " he asked.

" _Yes_ , Rita."

"I think she needs a professional plumber."

"You're being evasive," Deb shot back. "Why can't you just answer a direct question for once in your damn life?"

"Because you said you were going to pick up something, and the next thing I know I'm in the middle of one of your matchmaking jobs."

"If I left your romantic future to you, you would die old and alone."

 _Is that so bad_?, Dexter thought.

A moment passed. "I really don't see anything happening."

"Why? Because you don't think she's pretty?" Deb asked. Dexter didn't answer; the truth was he was asexual and fought antisocial, psychopathic tendencies with only moderate success, generally making him an unsuitable boyfriend. Besides, his last relationship had ended in tears. A lot of tears. He shuddered at the memory. "Because she _could_ be pretty you know."

"She already is pretty," Dexter said automatically.

"Yeah, but I know you're used to dating high-maintenance bombshells," she explained. _Or girls that have the balls to ask **me** out_ , Dexter thought. "I think you need somebody simpler." Dexter turned to her and sighed. "Fine, Dex—she's let herself go a little, she carries some baggage, and she has kids. But Rita is also sweet and spunky and isn't clingy. Believe me, she's also got a lot of potential, she's just really had a rough go of things, you know? But if she were with the right… _person_ I believe she could really blossom. You should give her a chance."

Dexter stared at her in disbelief. "Who the hell are you and what do you do with Deb?"

Deb rolled eyes, and started the ignition. "Suck my dick."

"There she is," Dex said.

 

+

 

Over the years, Dexter had accumulated a wide range of tools for purposes that would have had most repairmen losing more than their licenses. He showed up at Rita's house with everything but the kitchen sink, which, he assumed, she would be providing.

"Hey Dexter," she cried with a wide smile when she opened the door.

"Hey… you," he replied. He followed her to the kitchen.

"Again, thank you _very_ much. Can I get you something to drink before you get started?" she offered.

"Nope, thanks. I'm good."

"Alright. Then, I'm just going to leave you alone as you work. Let me know if you need absolutely _anything_."

 _How about a plumber?_ , he thought.

Dexter opened up the cabinet doors and snooped around. He unplugged the disposal and turned off its power source at the breaker box. Afraid to stick his hands in the mechanisms, he grabbed a pair of pliers and poked around for a problem. As he worked, he could hear her in the back talking with her children. As he listened more closely, it sounded like a girl. _She must be talking to Astor._ Ever since he'd found out that Rita had kids, he'd been…interested in meeting them. Not in a 'here little boy do you want some candy' way. Just…in a _curious_ way. He liked being around kids. They were so much more appealing than their adult counterparts. Simpler. Happier. More innocent. All things Dexter had never been…even when he himself was child.

After about 15 minutes he discovered the problem—the mangled remains of a matchbox car were lodged in the blades. He gently removed them and cleaned out some residue and clogs that had built up over the last couple weeks. He reassembled the disposal, then he reconnected the power. Before he knew it, he was done. He packed up his tools, wiped up the rest of the water and debris and then checked to see if the sink was working—it was. He packed up his tools, stood up, brushed himself off and then…

Waited.

After a minute he contemplated just leaving, but thought Rita might consider that rude, and if it ever got back to Deb, he would never hear the end of it. Then he thought of going in the back and _announcing_ he was done, but feared intruding into Rita's private space, seeing her half-dressed—or worse. He was mercifully spared from further deliberation when Rita suddenly appeared. She was considerably less cheery than before.

"You…you're done already?" she said, surprised.

"Yep," Dexter said.

"What was the problem?"

Would he rat out Cody? "You know, routine maintenance. These things get clogged over time."

"Wow," she said, clearly relieved, but still tired. "Weeks of suffering and you're in and out in forty-five minutes." Astor suddenly appeared behind her; she was whining.

"Mom I can't do it," she moaned. "It's too hard."

"Go back to your room, Astor, and work on your report. You aren't leaving until you're done and that's final."

"But it's not fair," she said as she turned to make the agonizing walk back.

"That's what you get when you wait until the last minute," Rita called behind her. She sighed heavily and picked up her checkbook off of the counter. "So what do I owe you?"

Dexter waved his hand. "Don't worry about it."

She shook her head. "No seriously, let me give you something."

"No," Dexter insisted. "I'll get it back from my sister somehow. She owes me one…or twenty," he joked.

Rita sighed, and then smiled bashfully. "Thank you," she said.

Dexter smiled as he walked towards the door…then paused.

"If you don't mind my asking, what is Astor's project about?"

"The red blood cell," Rita explained. "She's put it off, and put it off, and now that I'm back working I lose track of what their assignments are. The report is due when she goes back to school on Monday."

"I could," Dexter trailed off. "I could help her with it…if that's alright with _you_?"

Rita was hesitant. "No that's okay; you've done enough already. She has her computer and Wikipedia. She'll figure it out."

Dexter didn't want to take no for an answer. "Did Deb tell you? I'm a blood spatter analyst for the Miami-Dade PD. I know all there is to know about that red gooey stuff."

Rita was… _puzzled_. "You're _not_ a maintenance man?"

"No," Dexter laughed. "I'm a tinkerer at best. I'm more of a scientist. Type. Guy."

"O…K?" Rita said, running her hand through her hair. "Well, then yeah. We would welcome the help, but, um, I think she's pretty much done for the night. It's like wrestling an alligator when she get's like this. Is there any chance you could come back before Monday?"

"I'll come by tomorrow," Dexter replied.

Rita shook her head. "I don't know how many ways I can say thank you."

"You don't have to really," he assured her, and he left out of the door. "See you tomorrow.

 

+

 

Five days had passed and Dexter still hadn't met up with the object of his obsession. He'd spent most evenings parked outside Gary Phillips' door and waiting, but Dexter had yet to find him there, even though the motel still had him listed as a guest. In the meantime, the station's investigation had only barely caught up to where Dexter's was a week ago, and LaGuerta's big announcement of the day was the "bombshell revelation" that the perp had a tattoo that said "Mad Hatter". Since Dexter already knew who Phillips was and where he lived, that information was a day late and a dollar short, to say the least.

Dexter was at the station writing up lab reports when Deb showed up in his office.

"My life was one long stretch of boring," she announced and dropped onto the edge of his desk.

He took the bait. " _Was?_ "

"Until last night," she said, flashing all of her pearly whites. "I met somebody."

"On a _Monday_?" Dex asked. She nodded excitedly. "Give me the rundown," he said _less_ excitedly.

"If you insist—gosh," Deb said sarcastically. "He's like six foot five or something crazy like that. He's from Albuquerque, of all places. He's a cop." Dex looked at her with a look that said "duh." "I know, I know, but there's more. He loves—get this— _motocross_."

Finally something of interest. "I didn't know you like motocross."

"I don't. I like _guys_ who like motocross. Do you know how sexy they look in those helmets flying over sand dunes and rocky terrain? I'm getting wet just thinking about it."

"Number 86 on the list of things you never want to hear from your sister."

"Anyway, he's coming over to watch a movie tonight and I want you to come. I would like him to meet you. _And_ for you to check him out and make sure he's not a creep or anything."

"Can't," Dexter said. He stood and rifled though his filing cabinet. "I'm going over Rita's tonight."

Deb jumped off the desk, her face the picture of gleeful shock. "You're still talking to Rita?"

Dex shrugged. "I guess you could put it that way."

She punched him in the shoulder. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Ow. Because it's not a big deal."

"Not a big deal? It's been a _week_. How many times have you been over?"

"I dunno," he said, taking his seat. "Three, four times."

Deb squealed with delight. "Dex has a girlfriend, Dex has a girlfriend."

"Actually I don't."

"Come on, Dex," she said. "Have you had sex yet?"

"No," Dexter said defensively. _And hopefully never._

"That's OK. She's taking it slow—probably wants to wait until you meet her kids to see if you get creeped out or not."

"I've already met her kids. Which is why I'm going over there tonight."

"Huh?"

"I was fixing a short in the motor of Cody's toy car, when—"

"Wait—you're still _fixing_ things?"

"Not tonight. Tonight I'm taking Astor and Cody on my boat. It came up in conversation that I had one and they started asking me about it so I told them I would take them for a ride."

"Just you and the kids?"

"I think Rita's coming too."

"You _think_ Rita's coming too?" Deb scoffed. "Are you dating Rita or her children?"

"Are you asking me if I'm a pedophile?"

"No. I'm asking if you are as clueless as you sound."

"Look. Deb. Rita and I are…" He was about to say friends, but, did he _have_ friends?

"You're what?" Deb said, the glint in her eye coming back. "Just friends?"

"Yeah."

"Does she ever twist her hair when you talk to her?"

Dex thought hard. "Maybe once or twice."

"Does she find ways to touch you?"

Dex searched desperately through his memories. He remembered them brushing when she offered him a rag to clean oil off his hands. "I guess," he answered.

"Is she just ' _oh so thankful'_ every time you do something for her?"

This was a no brainer. "Yeah," he said.

"Oh. My. God." Deb exclaimed. "You are blowing it big time mister."

"What do you mean?"

"She's waiting for you to make a move. And you, dunce face, are dragging your damn feet."

Dex was…overwhelmed.

"I don't know," he said.

"Look," she walked towards him, grabbing both shoulders. "Listen to me: while you're taking her kids on frickin' field trips and fixing all their toys, she's somewhere dreaming of her knight in shining armor. Nut up and ask her out."

"You know I'm terrible at this, Deb," he sighed.

"Jesuscrist, Dex, are you, like, 16 years old? Here—Friday, Reggie and I are going to the carnival, and you and Rita are coming with us. It'll be a doubles thing. That'll give you a chance to ask her out on an actual date. No kids."

"OK, OK," Dexter said. The more he thought about it, the more he had to do this. He hadn't been on a date in months and hadn't had a girlfriend in almost a year. He was starting to hear murmurs around the station, and he had run out of ways to tell the mail girl to take a hike. He needed a girlfriend… _now_.

"OK, OK. I'll ask her out tonight." He paused. "I want to, actually."

"Awww," Deb teased. "Dex has a girlfriend; Dex has a girlfriend; Dex—"

"Don't you have work to do?"

"Yep," she answered, tossing her keys into the air and catching them with panache. "I have my fur handcuffs and booty shorts in my locker."

Dexter groaned as she left his office.

* * *

The boat ride had turned out to be a lot of fun. The crowds had cleared now that Spring Break was over, and in the middle of the week, the North Bay was all theirs. Dexter had brought along some Pop Rocks for the kids, stale bread for the birds and some tequila-flavored lollipops for him and Rita—worm and all. It had started like some educational nature trip, but by the end, he and Rita just relaxed at the helm, chatting about anything that crossed their minds, while the kids ran around the boat. They all ended up back at her house just as the sun was beginning to set.

"What do you say kids?" Rita reminded them as they tumbled out of the car.

"Thank you, Dexter," they sang in unison as they chased each other in the yard.

"You're welcome."

"Go wash up and get ready for dinner," Rita said. They bolted for the house.

"You're running behind schedule," Dex said apologetically. "I hope I didn't keep you out too late."

"No, it's fine. After they eat, they'll just wash up and go straight to bed."

Dexter smiled. "This was fun."

"Yes it was," Rita said. Her voice was pleasant, but there was a hint of reserve in her facial expression.

"Maybe one day when we have more time we can go further up Biscayne Bay towards the Keys. It's really pretty out there. Less polluted."

Rita nodded noncommittally.

"Dexter," she started. "I think we should talk about…what we're doing."

"Right. I was about to say the same thing," he said. This was his chance.

Relief spread over Rita's face. "Really?"

"Yeah. My sister wanted me to ask you if you would come with me, her and her boyfriend to the carnival tomorrow night."

" _Tomorrow_ night?"

"Yeah. She's really into double dating, but I've always thought it was overrated."

Rita shook her head. "Dexter, I'm confused."

"Well, it's just, she always says, 'Why be one couple when you can be two,' but I've always felt like it was just double the—"

"No, I get that; I just don't get…where I come in."

"Why not?"

"Because we're not dating."

 _Uh oh._

"I know," Dex said, back pedaling. "I'm just kidding."

"Really?" Rita asked doubtfully, "Because you sounded serious."

"I mean, I was serious about Deb, but I was kidding about, well not kidding, per se, like 'ha ha', but more like, um… it's just that, you know, she's been bugging me to go with her and I really didn't really have anyone else to ask, so I was thinking 'This'll be funny…ask Rita.' Not saying that I'm only asking you because there's nobody else. And I know we aren't dating. I mean, I told her we weren't dating."

Rita fidgeted with her hair while she waited for Dexter to run out of steam. Then she paused a minute, collecting her thoughts. She touched his arm. Dexter thought about what Debra said—but this didn't seem like giddy flirtation. It seemed like the opposite, actually.

"Dexter," she began. "I've really appreciated all that you've done for me and for my kids lately." He looked down at her hand apprehensively as she spoke. "But, I'm just not ready for a relationship."

"Neither am I," Dexter said. _I never will be._ "That's what so… _great_ about it."

"I'm… not following."

"That way we can just have fun. Without all the pressure and expectations… like we've been doing. You, me, Deb and What's-His-Face, together at the carnival, just burning off some steam after work."

She let the idea sink in for a moment, and a smile crept around the edges of her lips. "You know what, that kind of makes sense to me. I haven't had real 'me time,' since… It's been a while."

"Great! So it's a date," Dexter said. Rita's face dropped. "Kidding." She cracked a smile and headed towards the door. "Good night, Dexter," she said.

He wiggled his fingers in goodbye.

When she was gone, Dexter sat in the car and held his head. He needed a drink.


	2. The Middle

Dexter had been to many a carnival in his life—it had been a favorite pastime of his foster mom, Doris, before she had died.  


But, there were other reasons why too.  


“I don’t know what to do first,” Deb exclaimed excitedly as she entered the park, arm in arm with Reggie. “Gorge myself on cotton candy or risk my life on rickety, death-defying rides.”  


She and Reggie looked at each other. “Death-defying rides,” they said in unison.  


Deb looked at Dexter then Dexter looked at Rita.  


“What do you wanna do?” he asked her.  


“Umm,” she looked around aimlessly. “I dunno. I used to love those rides when I was younger, but now, I just wanna…I dunno walk around, play some games, maybe take a ride on the carousel and just relax,” she said. All six eyes were fixed on her. “Does that make me sound old?”  


“Kinda,” Reggie said. Deb smacked his arm.  


“Of course it doesn’t,’ Dexter said. “How about this? _You_ ,” looking at Deb, “and Reggie go and take the coasters and me and Rita will just stroll around some.” The sentence was barely out of his mouth before the other couple, the couple that was actually dating, ran off.  


Rita laughed a little. “How long have they been going out?” she asked.  


“Since Monday,” Dex answered.  


“Wow. They seem really joined at the hip.”  


“What can I say? My sister is a lover.”  


The two walked around leisurely, stopping occasionally to make fun of some of the cheap toys and tacky crafts being sold at various booths, until they got to a booth called “Wacky T-shirts”.  


Rita held up one: “I took an IQ test and the results were negative.” They both laughed.  


“How about this one,” Dex said, before holding up a shirt that read: “Out of my mind. Back in five minutes.”  


Rita snickered. “That’s how I feel after a day with my kids sometimes.”  


They kept browsing and their eyes both settled on this one: “Well it isn’t going to lick itself.” They looked up in mutual horror and kept walking. Dexter rifled through several others, quickly getting bored until he heard Rita laughing.  


“What does it say?” he said.  


“Some people are alive only because it’s illegal to kill them.” She laughed even harder. “Isn’t that so true?”  


 _  
You have no idea_ , he thought to himself. “Thank God that’s just a shirt,” he said, forcing a chuckle. “Right?”  


“I don’t know…I’d like one shot at a couple of the guests at our hotel—“ she stopped herself. “I’m just kidding Dexter. I don’t want you to think I’m some nut job.”  


“Never that,” he said. He placed his hand on her back, giving her a little push. “Let’s see what else they have around here.”  


Then they came to a kiosk selling wooden trinkets and jewelry of various sizes, some of which was quite beautiful. One piece caught Rita’s eye.  


“Look at this,” she said. She was holding an ornate necklace made of woods of different shades. “Just stunning,” she said. “The pattern in so intricate but the face of the wood is so smooth. It reminds me of something I had when I was little and my dad was still alive. He bought me a necklace something like this, probably a lot cheaper, but I still loved it. I would wear it everyday. I have no idea where that thing is. I must have lost it a long time ago.” She ran her hand along the medallion.  


“Do you… _want_ it?” Dexter asked.  


Rita looked up, shaking her head. “No.” She grinned brightly, and laughed a little.  


“What’s funny?” Dexter asked.  


“Just you, Dexter. You’re so sweet and…kind of childlike, in a good way. It’s sort of refreshing to be around.”  


Dexter didn’t know what to say. “Thanks,” he shrugged. “Refreshing” sounded a whole lot better than murderous, psychotic and bloodthirsty.  


“Ooh,” Rita intoned, pointing straight ahead. It was the carousel.  


The two walked over and Dexter handed the man their fare. They got on, with Rita choosing a pink pony with golden trim, while Dexter sat on the auburn stallion next to it. The ride took off and Rita swayed with her eyes closed as the horses bobbed up and down beside each other playing a polka version of “My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean”. After a couple bars, Rita started singing, and Dexter joined in. He heartily murdered the words and Rita laughed so hard, he thought she might fall off her horse. When the ride stopped, he hurriedly jumped off before extending her his hand.  


“Please alight, milady,” he said, in some accent that was a disservice to anything British. Rita didn’t seem to care.  


“That was fun,” she said.  


“I thought so,” Dexter replied. Then, to his surprise, she looped her hand under his arm.  


“Where are Deb and...um…”  


“Reggie? Probably somewhere puking.”  


They walked around and heard screaming. Dexter quickly recognized the voice as Deb’s.  


“Where do you get off unbuckling my seatbelt in the middle of a ride?” she hollered. “You sonuva…tit…lick…”  


“Calm down, sweetie,” Reggie pleaded. “You aren’t thinking clearly.”  


“I’m thinking plenty clearly, you dickhead. A lot more clearly than if you had let my guts splatter on the concrete.”  


“Whoa, whoa,” Dexter said running up to the pair. “What’s going on here?”  


“This cocksucker tried to take my seatbelt off in the middle of the ride so he could—quote unquote—scare the crap out of me.”  


“I _did not_ take her seatbelt off,” Reggie said in his own feeble defense.  


“Then what _did_ you do?” Dexter asked.  


“Got punched in the face, that’s what,” Deb yelled.  


“Look, baby, baby, baby,” Reggie cooed as he approached her. He placed a hand on both her shoulders. “Look at me,” he pleaded. She turned her head, avoiding his stare, but he followed her eyes. She eventually relented and they were face to face. “Love muffin, I would never, _ever_ do anything to endanger you, OK? I was _playing_. It was a lame attempt to be funny, and I apologize. But I wasn’t actually going to take your belt off, OK?”  


Deb glared at him for a long minute, the fury visibly draining from her face. “You suck, you know that?” she said after a while.  


“I totally agree,” he said. “Now tell me you believe me when I say I would _never_ hurt you.”  


Deb rolled her eyes and sighed hard. “I believe you,” she mumbled.  


“Alright now give me a hug,” The two embraced for what seemed like forever, oblivious to the goose-necking audience they had attracted by this time.  


“Did she call her own boyfriend a cocksucker?” Rita whispered to Dex.  


He leaned over. “She has a… _colorful_ mouth. It becomes endearing after a while.”  


Rita nodded.  


After the show had ended, Dex suggested that they go and grab some snacks.  


Reggie stepped up first to the window.  


“Welcome to Krazy Kandy’s. Can I take your order?” the barely-alive teenager intoned.  


“I’ll have a—“ he paused suddenly, pawing at his pockets.  


“Don’t say it,” Debra sighed.  


“Babe, I got you next time, I promise.”  


Dex popped up with a credit card. “I got it,” he said.  


“No, Dex, I can’t let y—,” Deb said.  


“No, I don’t mind,” he handed the card to the cashier. “It’s all on me.” He turned to Rita. “What did you want again?” he asked.  


“See how that works,” Deb said to Reggie. “Ladies first.” He leaned over and whispered something in her ear, before she shrieked and punched him in the arm, laughing.  


Dexter made a mental note to never do this again.  


Rita spoke up. “Just let me get a small, plain popcorn and a Diet Coke,” she said.  


“Make it a large popcorn,” Dexter added. “We can share.”  


Deb was next. “I want a candy apple and a Fuji water.”  


All eyes floated to Reggie. He was staring long and hard at the menu of all of six items, apparently coming up with nothing. “What’s the name of that huge, monstrous, gooey, funnel cakey thing y’all have?”  


“The Funnelcakenator?”  


“That’s it. I want that.”  


The cashier seemed to take pity on him. “That’s made for four people and costs $12.”  


“Gosh, Reg, Dex is treating. Get something else.”  


“No, I’ll pay him back,” he said laughing heartily. “You all are about to see the most amazing display of the human capacity for sugary confection. It’s going to be great.”  


“OK,” the cashier said. “Is that all?”  


“Can I get a Red Stripe?” Dex asked.  


“Make that two Red Stripes,” Reggie said, and slapped Dex on the back. “Nice call.”  


Deb made a gun motion to her head and pulled the trigger.  


After they got their treats, they found a clearing of benches nearby, and sat down. In short order they were…well, ‘treated to a display of the human capacity for sugary confection’—though it wasn’t that amazing or great. It really got grisly when Reggie made them chant “go, go, go” as he crammed large bits of caramel and M&M covered masses of fried dough into his mouth. Even more shockingly, Deb seemed to…like it?  


After the worse was over, Rita—mercifully—ponied up with a change of conversation.  


“So Dexter, what made you become a blood splatter analyst?”  


“Well,” Dexter began, “Me and Deb’s dad was a cop. He and his buddies were always around the house telling cop stories. Sometimes Dad would hand us a true crime novel to read… _In Cold Blood_ —“  


“ _Doc Holliday_ ,” Deb added.  


“Remember _Murder in Coweta County_?” Dexter asked. Deb shuddered. “So it was kind of natural for us to go into law enforcement. But I wasn’t really _cop_ material, so my dad recommended I go into forensics.” _To make me a better killer_ , he thought to himself. “I went to Florida State for Forensic Science—”  


“Go Seminoles!” he and Deb yelled at the same time.  


“And then I got a job straight out of college right here in Miami, at the station over on Flagler Street, as a Forensics Pathologist. But after a couple years, I realized that, even though I dabbled in everything, my real... _passion_ was for blood. The blood,” he paused, almost reverentially, “it tells so much, you know? The _life_ is the blood. So I got my certification to be a Bloodstain Pattern Examiner. I’ve been doing it ever since.”

“Really?” Rita said a little amazed. “You don’t ever get… depressed?”

“Um, it’s no fun seeing murdered children, or people grief stricken. But sometimes, the expert testimony I give is the evidence that can make or break an entire case.”

“Oh whatever,” Deb teased. “Brag, brag, brag, kiss, my, ass. The forensics guys think they are the whole Police Department by themselves. Ask Dexter if he can fire a gun.”

Dex laughed. “She’s kind of right. If I run into any real baddies, I need my little sister to protect me,” he said.

“Damn straight,” Deb laughed and punched him in the shoulder.

“Damn straight!” Reggie blurted, apparently sufficiently recovered from his sugar coma to rejoin the conversation. “The lab geeks are always running around saying stuff like, ‘O negative trajectory’. I mean, what does that crap even mean?”

“We don’t…say that,” Dex deadpanned.

“You know what we called the blood analysts back in Albuquerque? VAMPIRES!” he said, and collapsed into guffaws. He swatted Deb’s shoulder. “Get it? Vampires?”

“Don’t touch me,” she said.

Suddenly a mime appeared at the table. He motioned for Deb to pick a card and show it to the group while he made a show of covering his eyes. She did so. After a goofy dance, some spinning, falling and comical shuffling of the deck, he produced the card. They all applauded.

“I love tricks,” Rita whispered to Dex. He just nodded.

The mime had one more trick. He enthusiastically motioned for them all to move further down the bench, which they all did. He pulled up one sleeve, and then the other, apparently indicating that he was hiding nothing. Then he then pulled out a deck of cards and shuffled it well, several times. He spread the cards, face down, across the table and selected five cards, slowly showing his rapt audience each card—they were all spades. He returned them, face down, among the cards, before collecting them all and shuffling them again, still face down. He clapped his hands, cut the deck mid-air and tossed two cards in the air; they were the first two of the spades. He repeated the shuffling, cutting and clapping, each and every time, and seemingly at random, pulling another one of the spades from the deck. Not content to stop there, he eventually pulled each and every spade from the deck.

Dexter glanced at Rita who was completely mesmerized. To be honest, Dexter was pretty taken aback too—he certainly had appreciation for the art of illusion, and this was… _impressive_.

In one last dazzling display, the mime shuffled all the cards and, finally turning them face up, spread them across the table. All the remaining clubs, hearts and diamonds were in numerical order.

With that he bowed. His audience of four applauded with gusto.

“Holy mother of God,” Deb exclaimed. “How’d you do that?”

He shrugged his shoulders coyly, then rolled his hat down his arm and held it out for tips.

The group collectively panicked: Rita only had change, Deb ‘never carries cash,’ and Reggie…had forgotten his wallet. Dexter reached for his; all he had were twenties.

“It’s your lucky night,” he said as he dropped one in the hat. The mime smiled in a way that said “Sucker,” and went on to dazzle the next group of innocents.

“Oh gosh—that was great,” Rita beamed. “I wish the kids could have seen it.”

“Yeah, that was…pretty amazing,” Dexter conceded.

“Ehh, it was alright,” Reggie said. “But I bet if you got that guy anywhere near one of the planes I used to jump out of when I was in a skydiving club back in Albuquerque, he’d probably wet his pants.” He busted out laughing. “Up here,” he motioned to Deb, who gave him a weak high five.

“I dunno,” Rita countered. “That tattoo he had seemed pretty hardcore.”  


“What tattoo?” Dex said. He hadn’t seen any tattoo.  


“When he lifted his sleeves, he had a tattoo that said “’Chatterbox,’ and it had a mouth in a box above it. It was pretty intricate.”  


“Chatterbox tattoo on a mime,” Reggie said sarcastically. “Hilarious.”  


“Chatterbox,” Dexter whispered to himself. He turned to Deb. “Where are the johns out here?”  


“Somewhere out back,” she said. “They’re pretty gruesome. We can just leave now and take you to a gas station.”  


“I can’t wait,” Dexter said and took off running.  


He had to find that mime. That mime was Gary Phillips.  


He raced around the park. He only had a small window of opportunity before he would be missed by Deb and Rita. And Phillips could be…anywhere.  


“Seen a mime?” he asked random passersby. He got one no after another (and an occasional glare) until someone said he was by the dunking booth. When Dexter got there, it was…the wrong mime.  


“Where’s the other mime?” he asked. Predictably he didn’t answer. Dexter stood next to him very closely ( _too_ closely) and leaned towards his ear. “Answer me or I’ll shove that deck of cards down your throat,” he growled.  


“He’s on break behind the big tent,” the mime croaked. Dexter saluted in thanks and ran off.  


Dexter spotted Phillips smoking something that didn’t look like a cigarette. And, thankfully, he was by himself. Dexter gained his composure and approached him.  


“Hey,” he said in greeting. “You’re that amazing mime. Phillips quickly composed himself and tossed the joint. But, he didn’t answer. He pointed to a sign; it read “Employees Only.”  


“Aww, I won’t be long,” Dexter replied. “I just wanted to know if you do private shows, like for a retirement party.” The mime shook his head no. “Aw, c’mon, it’s for my dad. Great man. He’s an exec at Universal Studios, 30 years corporate in the entertainment industry, but at the end of the day, he’s always been a kid at heart. I don’t want anything but the best for him when he says goodbye to the daily grind.” Phillips, still in character shrugged his shoulders and gave Dex and exaggerated sad face. “I’m not going to take no for an answer.” He drew closer. “Money is no object… state your price.” The words seem to hit a nerve, and Phillips bit the inside of his mouth as the wheels turned in his head.  


“Look,” he finally said. He looked over his shoulder. “I’m in a... _transitional_ period right now. I’m only going to be here until Sunday, then I’m heading out with the carnival. But if you want my services, call me at this number.” He pulled out a flyer for the carnival, scratched out the number and wrote a new one on the back. “Here. If you’re wiling to fly me out, I’d be honored to perform for your father.”  


Dexter feigned excitement. “Thank you so much!” He grabbed both of Phillips’ hands, shaking them vigorously. “I can’t thank you enough. You _will_ be hearing from me.”  


Back silent, Phillips motioned a double thumbs-up, and left. Dexter watched him as he walked away.  


“A lot sooner than you think,” he added. He glanced down at his watch. He had been gone a half hour—too long to justify a potty break. He’d have to come up with an excuse.  


Emerging from behind the tent, he spotted a teenage girl with a huge teddy bear.  


“How much for the bear?” he asked. The girl and her boyfriend stopped. “I’ll give you ten bucks.”  


“Get lost,” her boyfriend yelled.  


“Twenty,” Dex offered, remembering that all he had were twenties anyway. The couple seemed to perk up. The girl whispered something in her boyfriend’s ear.  


“Fifty,” he countered.  


“Forty’s my final offer, Dexter said. “This place is crawling with those bears. If you don’t take the money somebody else will.”  


“Fine,” the boy said. The girl handed over the bear as Dexter handed them two bills, and he was off.  


By the time he got back, the trio he left behind looked like the picture of death by carnival, and he was pretty sure that the lovebirds were still bickering. Deb spotted him first.  


“Whoa,” she said. “That’s some bear you got there. Is it even going to fit in the car?”  


Rita turned around. “Wow! Who is that for?”  


“For you,” Dexter said. “I was walking back from the port-o-potties and some jackass at the dunking booth started up.” He set the bear on the table. “Guess my right arm’s better than I thought.”  


Rita smiled. “Thank you. It matches Astor’s room perfectly.”  


“Sure,” Dexter said. He wasn’t sure if that was a statement of fact, or a deflection.  


“I’m sleepy,” Rita moaned. She laid her head against the bear.  


“Let’s get you home,” Dexter said.  


+  


Dexter and Rita had a great ride back to her place. They soon discovered their mutual love for Eighties synth pop (although Dexter’s was not so much love as an effort to “blend in”—one of the main tenants of The Code) and so they sang loudly to Rita’s mixed CD of the greatest hits from Alphaville, Soft Cell and Depeche Mode all the way home. When they arrived, Dex walked Rita to the door, huge bear in hand.

“I had a _great_ time tonight, Dexter,” she said. “I hadn’t realized how much my life had become a never-ending cycle of work, kids, and housework.” She bit her bottom lip, smiling, and rubbed her finger up and down his arm. “I really needed this.”  


As far as Project Get a Girlfriend was going, this looked good. Dexter decided to turn up the heat.  


“Rita,” he sighed. “You look… _beautiful_. Right now.” She swatted at her hair, no doubt feeling the very opposite.  


“I dunno,” she said.  


“No, I’m serious. I don’t know if it’s the moonlight, or just the fact that you look so… weightless and free. And relaxed.”  


She smiled. “I _feel_ weightless and free and relaxed.”  


“I’m glad.” He took her hand. “I’m running out of things to fix, but I don’t want this to be the last I see of you.”  


“I don—,” she started to speak, but instead just looked up into his eyes with longing. He dropped the bear, and, cradling her chin in his hand, he bent down, stopping a hair’s breadth away from her lips. Then he closed the gap, gently at first, before gaining momentum. Dexter moved his hand to the small of her back, pulling her closer when all of a sudden…  


“I can’t,” she said, shaking her head.  


“Wha—, what happened?” Dex asked.  


“I just can’t,” she said breathless. She fumbled with her keys and opened the door.  


Dexter picked up the bear. “Let me help you inside, at least.”  


“No,” she said. She snatched the bear and rushed inside, only leaving the door cracked.  


“Goodnight?” Dexter said to her nose.  


“Goodnight, Dexter,” she said, and slammed the door.  


Dexter stumbled back to the car, confused. _What just happened?_ , he thought to himself.  


He might have had more time to replay the events in his head and figure out what went wrong, but he had more… _pressing_ matters to attend to.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback makes my world go 'round.


	3. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The body count in Miami is soaring, and all Dexter wants to do is add one more. But his job and...ahem...Project Get a Girlfriend are getting in the way of that.

Dexter came to work peppier than he should have—especially for a Saturday.  His night out with Rita—that had wrapped up around eleven—was just the prelude to the highlight of his evening:

Prepping his kill site.

He’d settled on Cranston Elementary School—a place that had been condemned years ago after one of Miami’s perennial hurricanes had rendered it beyond repair.  These days, there were more rats using its facilities than humans, and it was virtually covered in bush, making it the ideal location for a man of Phillips’ particular brand of murder.

He got a call the following morning—multiple homicide victims on 79th Street, and they needed a certain blood spatter analyst to assess the damage.  Dexter practically skipped to the crime scene—a week worth of frustration was almost behind him.

“What’re you so happy about?” Masuka asked.  “You know it’s Saturday, right?”

“I didn’t realize my happiness bothered you,” Dex said as he pulled out his camera.  “What have we got here?”

“Teenagers who watch too much TV.  It’s a gang fight right out of the movies.  Bodies on the pavement, bullet shells everywhere, and nobody’s talking.”

“Can you blame them?” Dex asked.

“Not really.”

“Well, good thing I wore my dancing shoes,” Dexter said with a bright smile. “This is going to be a ball.”

Masuka squinted his eyes, deep in thought.  “Jolly, cocky…you’re getting some.”

“It depends on what you mean by ‘some’,” Dex replied as he snapped photos.

Vince responded with one of his trademark giggles, then walked off.

A minute later, Deb appeared.

“Nasty, huh?”

“Yeah,” Dex agreed.

“So?” she asked.

“So what?”

“So, how’d it go with Rita?”

“Good…then bad.”

“What? Why?”

“I think we broke up before we even got together.”

“That's odd.  Are you sure it’s _over_?”

“Yes, I’m sure.  We just…don’t have any chemistry.”

“I don’t know about that,” Deb objected.

“Well, no _sexual_ chemistry anyway.  We have a great time together, but at the end of the night that’s where it ends.”  Deb shrugged her shoulder disappointed. “What about you?  How’d it go with Reggie?”

“We have the exact opposite problem.  All we have is sexual chemistry.  But when I woke up this morning, I was like, ‘what are you doing here?’”

“Wait,” Dexter said.  “You slept together last night?  After that horrible date?”

  

  1. Besides, I dumped him this morning.”
  



Dexter didn’t know whether to be sympathetic or elated.

“Turns out he’s married.  Separated actually.  His wife’s back in Albuquerque, but he’s still not over her.  She called around two, and—get this— _he took the call_!  Turned all wussy and stupid.  I kicked him out right then.”

“Well good for you.”

“Good for me _my ass_.  Is there one decent, single, upstanding guy in Miami?”

“I…don’t know,” Dex answered.

“You _don’t know_?  That’s you answer?  You’re the worse confidant ever,” Deb said.  She turned to leave then stopped.  “Oh, and thanks for footing the bill last night.  I owe you one.”

“What are big brothers for?” Dex replied.

Dex crouched over one of the bodies, but quickly got lost in thought, mentally reviewing everything he would have to do that night.

His phone rang.  It was Rita.

“Hey,” he said, walking off to the side.

“Hey.”  She sounded… _better_.  “I was just calling to find out if you could stop by tonight?”

“Why? Is the A/C still giving you trouble?”

“No, no.  It’s fine.  I guess I just want to explain last night—“

“Forget it,” Dexter stopped her.  “I tried to force something that wasn’t right.  I totally understand.”

“But I don’t think you do,” she said.  “Please, Dexter.  I want to see you.”

“Tonight’s not good for me.  We got a quintuple homicide in today and I have to work late.”

“That’s OK,” she said.  “Come by after 8, when the kids will already be in bed.”

Dexter played it over in his mind.  A tight day was turning impossible.  Could he get it all in?  The fact that this was even an issue was…trying his patience.

“Just come when you can,” Rita pleaded.

He relented.  “I’ll be there.”

+

LaGuerta poked her head through the door of Dexter’s office.

“Hey Dexter.”

“Hola,” he replied from under a stack of lab sample envelopes.  He always tried to put on a happy face for the bosslady... even when he wasn’t that happy.

“When’s the earliest you think you can get in tomorrow?”

“On a _Sunday_?” he gasped.

“I know, but—,” she stepped into his office all the way, shutting the door behind her.  “Today’s bloodbath took a dump on the Chief of Police’s crime initiative, and now he’s under the gun from the Mayor.  He wants suspects’ names and he wants them _yesterday_.”

Dexter tilted his head back.  He was thinking about skipping killing Phillips altogether and just offing himself instead.

“I know it’s asking a lot,” she said.  “Maybe if you could just stay back a little later tonight—“

“NO!” Dexter yelled.  LaGuerta jumped back.  “I mean, I can’t.”

“Um…ok.  Then do you think you could put in a couple hours tomorrow?  Just something until we figure out who did this.”

“Yeah,” he sighed.  “I’ll be in.”

“Thank you,” she mouthed and left.

Dex was running info through a database when he caught the time: it was 8:47.  He was already late for Rita.  If he was going to get it all in, he had to leave… _now_.  He grabbed his satchel and headed for the door.

“If I have to stay, you have to too,” Masuka shouted after him.

Dexter paused, realized he didn’t care and kept walking.

He literally ran to his car; he had to get to the carnival before it was packed up, but after it had cleared. Tomorrow this time would be too late.  He was about half an hour away, and the carnival technically closed at 9.  With traffic, he should get there a quarter after the hour.

Dexter searched for an ideal place to park his car, settling on a clearing along the back fence of the carnival property.  As the area was poorly lit and off the main road, he could lure Phillips away from the carnival, subdue him and drag him to his car undetected.

As Dexter made his way in, the other patrons poured out.  He maneuvered his way through the crowd in a series of near misses.

“Excuse me, sir,” a security guard called to him.  “I’m afraid you’re headed in the wrong direction.  We’re closing down for the night.”

“I know, but I left my cell phone… _somewhere_. My wife’s in the car calling it.  I’ll grab it and be right back out.”  Dexter looked panicked and thankful.  The man hesitantly waved him in.

Once inside, he found that, despite the bustle near the entrances, the park was a ghost town.  In reality, this is the way he knew the carnival best: after hours.  It had been the location of more than a little of his recon work.  The transient lifestyle of the performers, the masterful disguises they wore and the carnival’s compatibility with night made it the favored location of freaks of all types.

Including murderers.

He looked around for signs of where the employees may be.  Until he found it…a series of trailers out back.  He searched through them until he found one with several names, including one for Chago “the Chatterbox” López.

 _Bingo._ __

Dexter jogged back to the park entrance.  He saw the security guard and waved his cell phone in the air.

“Found it,” he yelled. The guard nodded.

Dexter ran back to his car, and now that the park was clear, the street was even darker than earlier.  He pulled Phillips’ card from his wallet.  “305-555-5289,” he muttered.  There were three rings and then someone answered.

“Chago.”

“Hey… _Gary Phillips_ ,” Dexter said.  There was silence.

“I’m afraid you have the wrong number.”

“I don’t believe I do,” Dexter countered.

“Who is this?” Phillips said, clearly panicking.

“I know where you are,” Dexter said.  “And that Chago bit isn’t fooling anybody.  We’re still going to get our money.”

“Did Agwe send you?”

“What the hell do you think? And he needs a payment… _tonight_.”

Dexter heard sighs on the other side of the line.  Phillips was thinking hard.  “Look, I can give you $200 in cash.  That’s all I have.”

“I’m in front of the huge palm tree on 35th Street behind the fence.  If you aren’t here in five minutes I’m telling the cops what you did to José.”

With that, Dexter hung up and waited.  He didn’t have to wait long.  Within 90 seconds, Phillips appeared under the tree, desperately looking around.  Dexter ran up to him.

“Hello,” Dexter called.  Phillips turned to him, “WTF” written all over his face, but it was too late.  Before he knew what hit him, he was in Dexter’s trunk speeding off into the night.

  
+

 

Dexter looked at his cell phone for the hundredth time. He’d gotten this show up and running by 10:15, which had to be some kind of personal record. But he’d spent the last 25 minutes waiting for one thing.

“God, I thought you would never wake up,” he exclaimed as his victim _du jour_ roused from sleep. “Your narcotics tolerance has to be zero. I’ve had women half your size wake up faster. Have you ever even been to the dentist?”

“Where am I?” Phillips asked. Dexter stood up and spread out his arms while slowly twirling around.

“In a spectacular place of magic,” he intoned.

 

Phillips seemed to see him for the first time. “You’re the guy from the carnival last night.”

“So I am. By the way, your card tricks suck. Well, the first one did anyway. The back of the card was a different color from the rest of the deck. You thought I wouldn’t notice?”

“Most people don’t.”

Dexter shrugged. “Well, my girlfriend was certainly impressed.”

“Your girlfriend? I thought that was your wife.”

“Why?”

“’Cause she had a wedding ring on.”

_ Wedding ring? How had he not noticed? Was Rita married? She couldn’t be. _

“You’re just finding that out?”

Dexter rushed Phillips, and plucked him on the forehead. “Shut up.  I’m asking the questions.” He set up two photos on his make-shift easel. “Do you recognize these people?”

Phillips shook his head. “Never seen them before in my life.”

Dexter produced a knife from behind him and held it an inch away from Phillips’ face. “Does this jog your memory?”

The man quaked visibly. “José Ramirez and Eric Martin.”

Dexter nodded, then shrugged. “I’ll stab you anyway.” He plunged the knife into the man’s abdomen, and Phillips let out an excruciating wail as tears were pressed from his eyes. A moment later, he opened them, before realizing he hadn’t been stabbed. Dexter chuckled to himself.

“Trick knife. See.” He pushed down several times on the blade. “It’s retractable.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” the man cried.

“WHY DID YOU KILL THEM?!” Dexter roared.

“I didn’t!” Phillips insisted.

“I think you did. Wanna know why?”

“I didn’t,” he repeated, more feebly this time.

“Let me tell you a story and then we’ll see if it rings any bells. Two years ago, you were the Mad Hatter, one of the most prosperous freelance professional clowns in greater Miami. Sure, you did the occasional grand opening and car show, but your bread and butter was this.”

He held up an 8 ½ X 11 sheet of lavender paper that had printing on both sides.

“The monthly newsletter of the Miami-Dade County Public School System, where you had an ad _riiiiight—_ ,” he pointed to the lower back corner, “here.”

Phillips shrugged his shoulders. “That doesn’t prove anything.”

Dexter whipped out a knife and pointed it at Phillips. “Shut the hell up,” he demanded. “This is my story, OK? Now, thousands of school-age children and their parents saw your clown-for-hire ad every month. You were in _such_ demand that you could charge pretty much whatever you wanted, and you did. You made so much money, in fact, that you could afford a three-quarters-of-a-million dollar house while maintaining a wife, two kids and a nasty little gambling debt on the side. That is… until this man _—_ ,” he added another photo to the gallery, “Guillermo Ramirez became superintendent. Ramirez cut you out of the newsletter and pasted in his nephew… a new kid fresh out of clown school. Your income dropped by 40% in the first six months.”

Phillips began to visibly writhe from the memory.

“But that’s just where your problems began. You started missing mortgage payments, cars started getting repossessed, you started drinking more and soon your wife and kids were gone. Which left just you and your cuddly bookie—Agwe Marcelin—who was more than happy to send his friends to your hotel room threatening to break your legs. Meanwhile, José was living the life you used to have.”

“I went to one of his shows,” Phillips said, contempt on his face. “That douchebag’s _assistant_ was older than him. He was dropping props like a damn amateur.”

“So you killed him? That’s a little drastic.”

“I didn’t mean to kill him. I went by his condo, thought we could work something out. Maybe we could share the ad space, or I was even willing to work for him—maybe start a partnership. I humbled myself. And that arrogant prick laughed in my face.” Phillips turned away. “Something in me snapped. The next thing I knew he was bleeding on the floor and I had blood on my hands.”

“You could have done the honorable thing. Called 911. Turned yourself in. Instead you moved clear across town, had your ‘Mad Hatter’ tattoo refashioned to read ‘Chatterbox’, started going by Chago Lopez and joined the circus. By tomorrow you would have been home free. You came _so close_.” Dexter crouched by his ear. “FYI: you’re _way_ to White to pass for Cuban.”

Phillips’s anger was palpable.

Dexter stood back up. “I just wanna know: Why’d you kill the other guy?”

“For screwing my wife,” he growled. “After that first time, killing gets easier.”

“Tell me about it,” Dexter said, and sat down. A minute passed.

“Now what?” Phillips asked.  Without answering, Dexter drug his blade across Phillips' face as the man clenched down on his bottom lip.  Hurriedly he drew a single drop of blood from the incision, carefully recording it on his glass slide.

“Now,” Dexter said with a twinkle in his eye. “For my final act, I make you disappear.”

“Why?” Phillips asked. “ _You_ kill people, _I_ kill people. We’re the same.”

“But unlike you,” Dexter said. “I kill murderers. You just kill people who screw you… or your wife.”

“Please, please,” the man pleaded. “We could keep each other’s secrets. I’m very good at keeping secrets.”

“Speaking of which,” Dexter said. “How _did_ you do your second trick?”

Phillips shook his head. “I’ll take it to my grave.”

Dexter shrugged. “Suit yourself.” And with that, he drove a _real_ knife straight through Phillips’ aorta.

+

Dexter was almost catatonic by the time he pulled up to Rita’s house. He checked himself in the rear view and took a hard breath, before slapping his face a couple times. Then he went up to the door and knocked.

“Dexter,” Rita said as she opened the door, clearly stunned…and bleary eyed. She looked down at her watch. “It’s 1:30.”

“I know, I know,” Dexter responded apologetically. “I had no idea we were going to run that long. Today was brutal.” Rita nodded sympathetically, but wasn’t exactly inviting him in. “I was... hoping it wasn’t too late to still stop by.”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” she said, collecting herself. She let him in. He took a seat on the couch.

“Are you hungry?” she said. “I can warm up some meatloaf that was left over from dinner.”

Dexter was starving, actually, but was too self-conscious to say so. She seemed to sense this and walked towards the kitchen to make him a plate.

“How was your day?” he asked.

“Uneventful,” she answered as she took a pan out of the fridge. “On Saturdays I usually let the kids sleep in while I do some housework, then we have a late breakfast and walk to the park.”

“Sounds… nice,” Dexter said.

“It kind of is,” she agreed. She popped the food in the microwave and stopped it right before it beeped.

She returned balancing the plate, a root beer and a bottle of ketchup. Dexter checked her finger for a ring; if she were wearing one the night before, it was gone now. “Here. Be careful it’s hot.” 

“Thanks,” he said. The meatloaf was joined by mashed potatoes with gravy and a pile of sliced carrots. He ate heartily, and she watched him for a few moments before speaking.

“Dexter,” she said in a way that suggested that she was getting down to the main event. “I wanted you to come by tonight because I feel like I haven’t been completely honest with you.”

“No?” he said, and stopped eating.

She shook her head. “I told you that I wasn’t ready for a relationship because I was scared. My last relationship was not a good one for me. It ended in a lot of heartache and confusion, and I thought that maybe I would just be better off by myself. But then, you showed up last week, and it’s been wonderful having someone around to talk to and who takes an interest in me and my children. And I realized that I don’t have to be alone.”

Dexter nodded. This sounded… _good_. “I feel the same way.”

But Rita still looked distressed.

“So, what’s the problem?” Dexter asked.

She struggled with the words. “I feel like there’s a block, or a barrier to me.” She stopped. “I don’t know how to explain this.”

Dexter had an idea of what she meant. “Deb told me how you two met.”

“She did?”

“Yeah. She said she was called out to a dispute?”

Rita nodded sadly. “My husband was a horrible person.”

Dexter helped her out. “He was… _verbally_ abusive.”

She nodded. “And also—”

“Physically abusive.”

“Yes.  _Physically_ abusive. But also…” She paused suddenly, a distressed pallor coming over her face. Her bottom lip began to tremble, and she dropped her head into her hand. “He would force himself on me Dexter,” she said finally, and began to cry.

Dexter went into panic mode. Sirens went off in his head: _TEARS! TEARS! TEARS!_

He placed his plate on the coffee table, and moved closer to her. He had no idea what to do. He fidgeted for a minute, then reached out his hand…and patted her on the head.

“It’ll be OK,” he whispered.

Rita looked all the way up until she was staring at the hand above her head, then she turned to Dexter—whose face was a motley mix of concern, cheeriness and panic—and busted out laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Dexter asked, impossibly confused. She was laughing so hard she couldn’t answer. “What is it?”

“You,” she said, after she regained her composure. She wiped tears from her eyes that came as much from her laughing as they did from her crying. “It’s that childlike innocence again.” She clasped her hands together. “You’re just so sweet.”

At that moment, Dexter came to the realization that he may never, ever have any clue of what was going on with Rita. But that seemed... OK. “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry, Dexter,” she said after a while. “This is all probably very confusing for you.”

“Not at all,” he lied. “To be honest, I have my own... _demons_ if you will. But, Rita, I’m willing to take a chance on us … if you are too.” 

A smile came across her face. “I am,” she said, and took Dexter’s hand. 

His near-empty plate caught her eye. “Would you like the rest of the meatloaf? There’s only one slice left anyway.”

“Sure,” Dexter replied. “Thank you.” She lifted up his plate, but knocked over the ketchup as she did. A little squirted out of the bottle and onto the table.

“Clumsy me,” she said, and headed to the kitchen. Dexter stared at the splatter on the table and had an epiphany.

“That’s it,” he whispered.

“What’s it?” Rita asked.

“We already have our suspects,” he answered.

“I’m… I’m not following.”

Dexter pulled out his phone and made a call.

“Maria speaking,” came a groggy voice on the other end.

“This is Dexter.”

“ _Dexter?_ ” she repeated. “What in the world could you want at this hour?”

“I figured it out. They all killed each other.”

“What?”

“Those kids today… they all killed _each other_. All day I stared at the exit wounds and bullet paths, and based on the positioning of the bodies and the blood patterns, I concluded that there were multiple shooters from different directions. But the multiple shooters were the victims themselves.”

“Hold on,” LaGuerta said. “You mean to tell me our suspects are _all_ in the morgue?”

“I think so.”

“That’s hard to believe Dex. I mean, we’ve had shootouts where one or two shooters get caught in their own crossfire, but _all five_? Besides there were no guns found at the scene.”

“I know it’s far-fetched, but the blood doesn’t lie. If you check their hands, I bet you’ll find gunpowder residue. Maybe some of their buddies came and collected the guns after the shootout and dumped them.”

“Wow, Dex—you really have a theory there. But, it’s the only one we have. I’ll check into it more in the morning. See you tomorrow?”

“Bright and early.”

“Good,” LaGuerta said. “Now go get some sleep.”

Rita plopped down on the couch and handed him the last slice of meatloaf. Then she wiped the ketchup off the table. “Your mind never stops does it?”

Dexter popped some meat into his mouth and flashed a bright smile. “Nope.   


+

 

Dexter woke up feeling… refreshed.  The Dark Passenger had been appeased for the time being, Dexter officially had a girlfriend and he was on his way to work to sink his teeth into a theory he had a good feeling about.

Life was… _manageable_.

He turned over in bed, looked at the clock and panicked.

It was 1:00.

 _P.M_. 

He grabbed his phone—26 missed calls, mostly from Deb.

He scrambled out of bed, showered quickly, and high-tailed it to work.  He crashed through the elevator doors to find the floor overrun with officers.

Deb spotted him first.  “Dexter,” she called.  Where the hell have—“

“I know, I know,” Dexter moaned. “I overslept.  Catch me up.”

She leaned in close, grinning.  “You’re like the hero of the century right now.”

“Of the _century_?” he repeated.

“Well, more like of the week.”

LaGuerta walked up.  “So nice of you to join us, Dexter.”

“Sorry, I just—“

“It’s OK,” she nodded.  “We managed without you.”  She walked to the front of the room.  “Listen up folks; now that Dexter is here, I have some announcements to make.”

The room fell silent and a crowd formed around where she was standing.

“Several of you are aware that I got a phone call from Dexter Morgan last night suggesting that all five of the victims in yesterday’s massacre were also our prime suspects.  As out of this world as that idea sounds, we used that as a jumping off point for today’s activities.  Since this morning, we’ve learned that all five victims had residue on their hands that suggests they had recently fired guns.  Our officers scoured the area, and three firearms were recovered from nearby dumpsters; one had been wiped clean, but the remaining two had prints that matched those of two of the victims, and all three guns currently seem to match bullets that were found at the crime scene.  Finally, the one eye witness that has stepped forward has given testimony that seems to corroborate the theory.  While the investigation is very much still underway, our findings so far seem to indicate that…Morgan is right.”

 _Wow_ , Dexter thought to himself.  Deb elbowed him, smiling.

“All told, we might be able to close this thing by the end of the week.”

There were general nods and smiles that spread throughout the assembled crowd.

“It’s not all good news.  The case of José Ramirez remains unsolved, and we have reason to believe that the primary suspect, Gary Phillips, may have checked into a Motel 8 several days ago, although his current whereabouts are unknown.  Even so, we should be happy that we’re well on our way to settling one out of two cases.”

 _Speak for yourself_ , Dexter thought.

“Guys, you’ve put in a lot of hours, and some of you haven’t seen your family in days.  Unless you’re essential personnel, and you know who you are, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The crowd dispersed.  “Thank God,” he whispered to Deb.

“Why? So you can go crawl into your man cave and do whatever it is you do on weekends?”

“I’m not going home, Deb,” he said, grabbing his satchel.  “I have a girlfriend.”  He headed towards the elevators, but Deb jumped in front of him.

“Who?”

“Rita,” he answered.  Deb could barely contain her delight.

“When did this happen?”

“Last night.  I went there after I left here.  We had a long talk and… we’re going to give it a shot.”

Deb was beside herself.  “You dog,” she said.  The elevator doors opened and Dexter stepped inside, before waving to Deb as the doors closed between them.

 

+

 

Dexter walked up to Rita’s door and knocked, but no one answered.  He turned and saw her car in the driveway.  _She must be here._   He knocked again.  Then he heard children laughing.  He walked around the side of the house and saw Rita and the kids in the backyard, spread out on a blanket and eating.

“What do we have here?” he asked.

“Dexter!” Cody and Astor squealed.  Cody jumped up and gave him a hug.

“Dexter, we’re having a picnic,” he said.

Dexter waved to Rita. “Hey you.”

She smiled.  “This is a pleasant surprise,” she said.

“Yeah, I just showed face at work.  They didn’t need me after all.”

“And the case?  Were you right?”

“So far…it seems so.”

“Great,” she beamed.  She pulled out two slices of bread and a package of cheese.  “Have you had lunch yet?” she asked.

Dexter shook his head.

“Then you’re just in time,” she said with a smile.

Dexter strolled over to the blanket and sat down next to her as she made him a hearty turkey sandwich with coleslaw and potato chips.  She handed him the plate.

She watched contentedly as he ate for several moments, then snuggled in closer and leaned her head against his shoulder.  Dexter answered with a peck on her forehead.  She looked up at him. “I’m glad that you’re here Dexter,” she sighed.

He looked at her a moment, then at a playful Astor and Cody, and then (it seemed) he looked out at the whole world.  There was sun, and breeze, and food, and laughter…and Rita.  And all of this, everything around him, seemed...normal.  He turned back to her.

“I’m glad to be here,” he replied.

And for the first time in his life, it _almost_ felt true.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback makes me squee!


End file.
